


Loxoscelism

by idiotTeabags



Series: Loxosceles reclusa [1]
Category: Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF May Parker (Spider-Man), Bisexual May Parker (Spider-Man), Bisexual Peter Parker, Childhood Friends, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flash Thompson Needs a Hug, Flash Thompson Redemption, Friendship, Gay Harry Osborn, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Harry Osborn Needs a Hug, Harry Osborn is Spider-Man, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, One-Sided Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, Peter dies in this, Possibly Unrequited Love, Protective Harry Osborn, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Recovery, Revenge, harry osborn is my favorite character ok, i take what i want from canon, i'm actually shit at dialogue can u tell, it gets less sad i promise, lesbian mj watson, pay attention to the warnings bro, you can read this as shippy or friendshippy tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotTeabags/pseuds/idiotTeabags
Summary: After Spider-Man dies tragically in a battle with the Green Goblin, New York is devastated. The city has lost its favorite hero, but more importantly, Harry Osborn has lost his best friend.Three months later, the city has moved on and Harry finds himself desperate for some way to keep Peter with him. What he finds is a genetically altered spider, a messy notebook full of blueprints, and a plan to exact his revenge on the monster that ripped Peter away from him.---Basically a concept piece for how things may have been different if the Goblin had killed Spider-Man instead, and how I think Harry might've reacted to the death of his best friend as opposed to his dad.
Relationships: Gwen Stacy/Mary Jane Watson, Harry Osborn & Flash Thompson, Harry Osborn & Gwen Stacy, Harry Osborn & Mary Jane Watson, Harry Osborn & Peter Parker, Harry Osborn/Flash Thompson, Harry Osborn/Peter Parker, the ships in this fic are mostly just hinted at sorry
Series: Loxosceles reclusa [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969873
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	1. Act I: Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!! So I've had this idea for ages and I want to see what I can do with it! :)  
> I have the whole fic planned out, so I'm hoping that I can have it written and posted in a decent amount of time.  
> That said, updates will be sporadic! Who knows when the writing gods will allow me the time and focus to sit and write a chapter? Not me! But I'm hoping that since I have it planned out, there won't be too much time in between updates lol. Enjoy! :)

**Act I, Scene I:**   
**if the world should end**

_“Hey, that’s cheating!”_

_“No, it’s strategy! I’m being perfectly fair!” Harry leaned in front of Peter to block his view of the screen. “You’re just mad because I’m winning!”_

_“Fuck you!” Peter grinned wildly as he elbowed Harry in the ribs in an attempt to get him out of the way._

_When that didn’t work, he flashed Harry his trademark stupid grin, “So what I’m hearing is: ‘All’s fair in love and MarioKart’?” Peter said slyly, and Harry, an idiot who falls for easy distractions, turned away from the screen to face Peter._

_“Wha-” Harry couldn’t even finish the word before Peter had jumped into a backflip, landed on his feet behind the couch, and wrapped his arms around Harry’s head to cover his eyes._

_“How the fuck-” Harry started, trying his best to struggle out of the inconvenient face-hug, but Peter was unnaturally strong for a lanky nerd. By the time Harry had broken free of Peter’s grip, he had already lost the game._

_Peter let out a loud “whoop!” of victory and jumped back over the back of the couch, landing atop the messy pile of pillows. “How’s that for strategy!” He cheered, collapsing into a fit of giggles._

_Peter’s laugh was loud and obnoxious, and he sounded stupid when he giggled like a child, but something about that moment transfixed Harry. He felt himself smiling as he watched Peter lose his mind laughing before finally joining in himself after Peter laughed so hard he fell off the couch._

_The two boys tried to calm themselves down before bursting into laughter again at their unsuccessful attempts not to laugh._

_Harry felt as if he could live in this moment forever._

_Then suddenly, there were sirens._

_The blaring noise came from outside, at a distance, yet at the same time, it seemed to screech directly in Harry’s ears. Then there was crashing. And shouting. And Peter’s smile vanished._

_A barely audible statement:_

_“I have to go.”_

_And then Peter was gone._

_Harry looked at his empty room; the couch cushions were still in disarray, the game controllers were tossed carelessly on the floor. Then suddenly they weren’t._

_Harry stood outside in the middle of the street. Debris flew and crashed around him, and smoke clouded his vision. He should have heard the sounds of people screaming, of crashing metal as it fell to the dark pavement of the city streets. Instead, he heard a soft thumping noise, growing slightly faster by the second._

_A heartbeat._

_His heartbeat?_

_He started running. What he ran to or from he didn’t know, but as he ran, the smoke cleared away, and the heartbeat grew louder until he found himself alone in the dark._

_The scene was silent, save for the heartbeat. It was almost like being underwater: unable to hear or see anything clearly, but still able to sense the presence of noise. Harry stumbled forward, tripping over some unknown obstacle. It seemed that all he could do was blindly follow the beating of his heart._

_A sudden flash of bright light spiraled above his head, and a blur of red and green crashed to the ground at Harry’s feet. He squinted to get a better look at the scene before him, but his vision was still clouded and blurry. Still, he managed to make out two grappling figures, tumbling over one another on the floor of the old warehouse._

_Harry could sense that the two figures were talking as they fought, shouting actually, but he couldn’t hear them. Their words were garbled, drowned out by the relentless pounding in Harry’s ears._

_Harry could do nothing but stare as the scene played out, the echoing heartbeat drowning out all other thoughts. He watched, unmoving, as the two figures wrestled for control until one backed the other against a hard stone wall._

_Harry felt his stomach clench. He needed to move closer. Why? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. He tried to take a step forward, to inch closer to the two figures, but it was no use. He was rooted in place, locked into the role of observer—a bystander._

_There was nothing for him to do but watch._

_Watch, as the green figure presses the red one further into the jagged side of the wall. (Harry could make out more details now. The heartbeat kept thumping.)_

_Watch, as streams of red soak through the holes torn into the red figure’s mask. (Again, Harry tried to move closer, still frozen in place by some invisible force.)_

_Watch, as the green figure pulled the red figure off the wall by his shoulders (The pounding had become so loud that Harry’s ears were ringing) and slammed his head back into the rocks._

_And then there was silence._

_Empty. Painful. Silence._

_Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as the red figure sank to the ground._

_The Green Goblin bent down towards the lifeless figure, crumpled on the ground, and Harry found himself unable to breathe as the Goblin ripped off Peter Parker’s bloodsoaked mask._

\---

On August 26th, New York City mourned the loss of a neighborhood hero.

Less than a week later, the whole world just carried on.

Three months later, the Green Goblin had not yet reappeared.

Three months later, Harry Osborn still had nightmares. 

\---

The streets of New York were loud as usual. People bustling from place-to-place, the occasional supervillain, the occasional superhero, some police sirens, some fighting, the bad guys get locked away—all part of the neverending routine of the city.

If one villain got locked away, more flooded in to take their place. If a hero died, someone else would step up. A cycle to keep the natural state of things in balance. Harry hated it. 

New York suffered from one world-ending threat after another, and it would continue on that way forever. Nothing any one hero can do will ever make a difference in the cycle.

Harry rolled up the window of his father’s limousine and tried to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach.

\---

People used to wonder why so many villains would attack Midtown High in search of Spider-Man, but now that everyone knew the answer, it didn’t make any difference. There was no Spider-Man to come looking for anymore. 

The portion of the budget that had been set aside for “emergency reparations” (lovingly dubbed the “Supervillain Fund” by a few teachers) ended up being used to buy new equipment for the science labs and create a few student scholarships “in honor of Peter Parker.”

It was a nice gesture, but it meant nothing to the students of Midtown High. Once they realized that they wouldn’t be getting out of class every other week because some creep in a mask destroyed the cafeteria, they carried on with their lives just like the rest of the city.

\---

Plenty of news reporters wanted to speak with people who knew Spider-Man in person, but they quickly lost interest when they couldn’t find the answers they wanted. Only a few students agreed to talk, and even then, no one who was actually close to Peter wanted to tell the reporters anything. Even Flash Thompson surprised everyone when he refused an interview about how his favorite victim turned out to be his favorite hero.

When they asked Harry for an interview, he lashed out. He screamed, he kicked, he pushed the reporters away—anything to get all of those cameras out of his face. By the next morning, his “grief-stricken tantrum” was all over the tabloids. He was used to attention due to paparazzi following him around on several occasions throughout his life, but that was different. Paparazzi didn’t have such pitying looks as he shoved them away. They wanted pictures. These people wanted feelings. Fuck that. Harry wanted privacy.

More than that, Harry wanted Peter back.

\---

November 18th, 10:30 PM 

“Heyyyy, Osborn! What’s up, my dude-”

“Oh, hiiiiiiiii, Harry!”

“-should get started on some drinks-”

“-brought some of the good stuff too-”

“Ohmy _god-”_

\---

Peter never liked parties. Too many people, too many drinks, too much noise. It was sensory overload, and that was _before_ the spider bite heightened all his senses. Still, despite how much he hated it, he would go to parties with Harry.

Harry liked parties too much. He’d go out late, get drunk or high off his ass, make his way back home by morning, and if Norman knew about any of it, he obviously didn’t care. It was always Peter who took care of him instead. Peter walked him home. Peter called when he disappeared too long. Peter was the one who urged him to stop when he’d drank too much.

Peter was always there to catch him.

Then Peter started to get distant. He’d started acting strange, canceling plans, wearing contacts. Harry would try to plan something, and Peter would skip out at the last second. Sometimes not even May knew where he was when asked. And then Peter had new friends; people he greeted in the hallway who Harry had never met before, who were suddenly getting to spend more time with Harry’s best friend than he was. It hurt. So Harry dealt with it the only way he knew how.

He went to as many parties as he could find. He’d dance a bit, make out with strangers, and drink, and drink, and drink. 

And then, Harry would wake up in his own bed with a hangover, and the only clue as to how he’d gotten home was the wide-open seventeenth story window, and there was no way he could’ve climbed through there.

The first time it happened, he had wondered if his dad had found him out and ordered a driver to drag him home, but that theory was proven wrong by the absence of an angry lecture on his behavior. The next time it happened, Norman was out of town. Harry checked the downstairs security cameras to see if he’d somehow stumbled in drunk, but there was nothing.

It kept happening like that, so after a while, he just accepted it. He just had a guardian angel or something. That was fine. It meant he could do whatever he wanted without having to worry about passing out drunk in a dark alleyway, and that was okay with him.

He knew the answer now, of course. 

_Peter was always there to catch him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((chapter title is taken from the song, "If The World Should End", from the famously doomed musical, "Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark". It seemed fitting.))


	2. Act I: Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should probably mention that this is not beta-read and barely edited at all.  
> Also, this chapter's title comes from the song "Numb" by Marina

**Act I: Scene 2**

**i can't breathe and i can't smile**

If there’s one thing Harry hates in this life, it’s the sun. The sun is stupid, shining its big stupid awful rays everywhere while Harry is trying to sleep. Dumbass fireball. It has no respect for beauty sleep. And the shadowy figure looming over by Harry’s window probably doesn’t either. 

_Wait. Who?_

Harry’s eyes fluttered slightly as he struggled to pull his muddled train of thought away from sleepy nonsense. Who would have even been able to get into his room so early in the morning? The only person who could ever get away with that was-

_“Harry?”_

_Oh_.

“Pete?” Harry muttered, barely a whisper. With his eyes still shut tight, he reached his hand out to steady himself on the bed(?) beneath him, but when he couldn’t find the familiar touch of his sheets he suddenly wasn’t at home anymore. Right. The Party.

“Harry!”

\---

November 19, 11:06 AM

“Harry… Harry… HARRY!”

Harry jolted up too quickly and was immediately struck by a blinding pain aching through his head. Great. He blinked his eyes a few times at the figure above him, waiting for his vision to clear. Oh.

“Hey, MJ.” His words slurred together slightly as he rubbed his eyes.

“What the hell, Harry?” MJ stood over him. Damn, she looked kinda pissed.

Harry stared at her, head throbbing with pain, as she kept talking. There was a party last night, right? Yeah, that would explain the hangover. And why he was lying half-dressed on an unfamiliar (and very scratchy) carpet. Fuck, his head hurt like hell. MJ was staring at him now. Her face was all... angry-like. Was she waiting for him to say something? Did she ask a question? Shit, she probably expected an answer, didn’t she?

“Huh?” Harry slurred intelligently.

MJ let out a resigned sigh and grabbed Harry’s arm.

“Get up. I’m taking you home.”

Harry wordlessly accepted the help and was hit with a wave of nausea as soon as he stood upright. 

“Em, uh…” She seemed to know what he meant because she turned him away from her and towards a nearby trash can. It wasn’t near enough, though, so Harry threw up all over some stranger’s carpet. Whose house was he in again? Whatever, it didn’t matter.

MJ guided him outside to her car and helped him into the passenger’s seat before pulling out an empty shopping bag from the glove compartment and shoving a plastic water bottle into the passenger side cup holder next to her flowery green thermos.

“Do _not_ puke in my car, you hear me?” She warned, handing him the bag. Harry nodded solemnly, and MJ walked around the car to the driver’s seat. 

This was their routine. 

There was no passing out drunk at parties and waking up carefully tucked into his penthouse bed anymore. It was a weird new reality that Harry had to get used to.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes as MJ drove, occasionally flipping radio stations when ads came on or when she got tired of whatever song was playing (which was about every thirty seconds or so). Harry made sure to slowly sip his water and kept his eyes forward on the road to curb his nausea. MJ could get real scary, real quick when it came to her car. 

Eventually, MJ seemed to get tired of the radio and switched the volume down as they approached a stoplight. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke.

“I’m going to see May today.” Oh.

“Oh?” Harry wasn’t feeling very talkative, thanks to the twisting feeling in his stomach.

“Come with me.” It was an order, not an offer. 

“Why?” 

The stoplight turned green and MJ avoided looking at Harry as she drove, keeping her eyes locked on the road as if turning away for even a second could send the car spiraling into a wreck. It wasn’t like her to be so careful. Mary Jane Watson was notorious for her reckless driving and frequent speeding tickets. It was honestly a wonder she hadn’t been hospitalized yet. Or maybe not so much of a wonder, Harry considered. Maybe she was missing a guardian angel of her own.

“I think it would be good for you.” MJ hesitated for a moment, taking a long sip of whatever she had in that thermos. Was that coffee? God, Harry would kill for a cup of coffee right now. “For both of us.” 

Harry would’ve scoffed if he didn’t feel so sick. He didn’t need MJ to tell him what’s good for him. If what was _good for him_ really mattered at all in the grand scheme of things, Peter would still be here. 

MJ parked her car at the front entrance of the Oscorp building. “I’ll be back at one. Take a shower, drink some water, and change clothes. Can you get upstairs on your own?”

Harry didn’t answer her as he crawled out of the car and slowly made his way to the building. He’d be fine. He didn’t need any more help right now. The secretary by the door greeted him with a cheerful “Good morning, Mister Osborn!” and was promptly ignored as the hungover teen wandered into the elevator and rode up to the penthouse. 

He groaned as the elevator started moving. It was an agonizingly long trip up to the top floor. He felt gross from the party last night. He’d drank too much and slept on the floor for probably no more than 5 hours, and his skin was crawling with that awful sensation where you just don’t feel _clean_. Still, it was nothing a long shower couldn’t fix. Harry needed to at least look decent if he was going to see Aunt May today, after all.

\---

Harry had always admired May Parker. 

When they were kids, Peter talked about his Aunt and Uncle nonstop. At first, Harry didn’t get what all the fuss was about. In his experience, family was simply a bunch of people in fancy clothes at a party or a press conference, telling him to stand still, smile for the cameras, and make a good impression. He could honestly do without them entirely. Sure, Harry liked his father, but Norman Osborn had a company to run, and having a company is much more impressive and important than having a child. So the people Peter was always chattering about; his sweet Aunt May who always made chocolate chip pancakes, and his cool Uncle Ben who knew how to fix anything, couldn’t be actual people. That just wasn’t how families worked.

Harry was proven wrong.

The first time Peter invited Harry over, Harry met the famous Aunt May in all her glory, and she was unlike anyone else he had ever met. She was sunshine and love and yeah, chocolate chip pancakes. He immediately understood why Peter loved her so much.

Harry was pretty sure he loved her too.

When they were young, he’d called her Aunt May, just like Peter did. She never seemed to mind. She and Ben were always so kind whenever Norman went on long business trips and little Peter, with his missing front teeth and messy brown hair, came home from school, dragging Harry by the hand because he knew his friend was too scared to stay in the empty penthouse alone.

The penthouse was empty now, too. As Harry took a quick shower and put on the first set of clothes he grabbed out of his dresser, he thought back to all those nights he stayed over with the Parkers. They had accepted him in so easily, treating him like part of the family. Sometimes it felt like Aunt May really was Harry’s aunt too, but she wasn’t. She was _Peter’s_. And Peter was gone.

Harry had stopped coming around eventually; he had to prove his worth to his dad at some point and being afraid of loneliness is _unbecoming_ of the heir to the Oscorp company. It wasn’t that Norman didn’t like the Parkers, on the contrary, he seemed to like Peter more than he liked Harry most of the time, but the great Norman Osborn couldn’t have his son running away from responsibilities just because he was afraid. 

_“Is this how you intend to run a company, Harold?”_

After Ben died and Peter started to become distant, Harry rarely ever saw May. When Peter wouldn’t respond to his messages and he couldn’t find him anywhere else, sometimes he’d check in with May at the house, but Peter was never there. Just Aunt May and her sad little smile. So Harry stopped looking for Peter. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t mad that Peter abandoned him at the time. But now, knowing why he was always so quick to jump up and leave or to constantly forget plans… Well, Harry was still mad, but now he felt guilty about it. It’s a little hard to come to grips with the fact that you have to share your best friend with the rest of the world. The horrible, deadly world that decided to take everything away from you.

So he was selfish. What’s new. _But honestly_ , he wondered, _don’t I have the right to be?_

Harry found himself lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He spent a lot of time like that, these days. When he wasn’t getting completely hammered at parties, that is. Maybe MJ was right. Harry really wasn’t handling any of this well at all. 

Harry’s phone buzzed. Speak of the devil. Was it really one o’clock already? He sent a quick “omw” text to her then pocketed his phone and grabbed a jacket before heading back downstairs. He ended up in the elevator with a couple of research assistants who were about to start their shift on one of the lab floors. 

It was a strange experience living in the same building where dangerous science experiments were performed day in and day out. That thought had actually been a consistent source of nightmares for Harry as a child until Peter suggested one day, when they were both about ten, that maybe the experiments wouldn’t hurt him. Maybe instead they’d do something really cool like give him superpowers. 

Yeah. _Maybe_. Harry scoffed internally at the memory.

But whatever. It had helped at the time.

Harry was lost in thought as he wandered out the elevator doors, so he barely noticed when he walked directly into a blonde girl holding a large stack of papers.

“Oh! Hey, Harry!” Gwen Stacy gave him a nervous smile as she bent to pick up the papers Harry had just knocked out of her hands. He made no move to help her, still registering his surroundings as he was pulled back into reality. It was like his thoughts were just floating around in a glass of water that was being ever-so-slowly poured back into his brain. By the time he realized he should be helping her, she was already standing again. He must’ve looked like a total dick. With anyone else he might not care, but well…

“Sorry about that!” She apologized a little too cheerily, her strained smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Um, right, I don’t know if you know me, I don’t think we’ve ever been in class together, but my name’s Gwen. I’m uh- I mean, I know you were a friend of Peter’s.” 

She seemed nervous, and her smile was beginning to fall just slightly. Harry stared at her blankly. Yeah that probably wasn’t helping the matter. Of course he knew her. How could he not? Peter had crushed on Gwen Stacy for over a year after they were lab partners in sophomore year chemistry, and they’d actually dated for several months last year. Of course, that was while Peter was avoiding him. Or at least, while he thought he was. Harry had never gotten to know Gwen personally, just hated her from a distance for the part she played in Peter never spending time with _him_ anymore. He felt guilty about that now. Apparently guilt was becoming a trend with him.

“I know who you are.” Harry spoke the words quickly. Gwen smiled slightly again, but this time it looked a bit more awkward than nervous. 

“Oh, okay, well, cool then.” Neither of them seemed to know what to say to the other. 

“I should go.” Harry blurted out. “My friend is waiting for me outside.” 

He walked away quickly, with only one sneaking glance behind him at the blonde girl walking into the building. She didn’t seem all that phased by Harry running away so suddenly. He supposed it made sense, what with the way Peter would run out and disappear all the time. Maybe she was used to people just leaving in the middle of her conversations because of it. Or maybe Harry was just overthinking things. It was probably that one.

Still, Harry wondered for a split second, thinking back to the nervous sadness behind her eyes, if she had known _why_ any of that happened. Harry had always reacted with anger because he thought he was being abandoned, but Gwen… Maybe she knew why Peter did it, and maybe that’s why it didn’t phase her.

Or, again, Harry could just be overthinking. No use dwelling on it either way.

\---

The first thing May did when she opened the door was pull MJ into a tight hug. Harry felt slightly awkward standing around watching it until May grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him as well. It was nice. May was always a great hugger. And she always smelled like almonds and lavender.

The ride over to the Parker residence had been quiet. MJ had brought Harry an iced coffee on her way over and he was extremely grateful. Now that they were here, Harry didn’t know what to say. 

Thankfully, MJ knew how to use words so Harry didn’t have to. 

“It’s nice to see you, May.” MJ smiled gently. “I figured we might need some extra help with the boxes and stuff, so…” She gestured to Harry, who instantly froze.

_Boxes?_

“I- Uh, what?” He stammered intelligently. May laughed lightly at that.

“Of course,” May grinned and stepped back away from the door, “You two had better come in, now. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

As they stepped inside, Harry followed MJ’s lead, only taking off his coat when she did, waiting for her to sit on the couch before he moved towards it. The Parker residence looked exactly the same as if had when Peter was alive three months ago, but it felt so foreign and empty to him now.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Harry.” May rested a hand on his shoulder momentarily as she walked past to take a seat on the recliner across from where Harry and MJ were seated on the couch. “I really appreciate the two of you coming to help with,” May paused, “all of this.” She gestured widely across the room to where a pile of boxes sat in the corner by the kitchen table. 

Harry was confused. Why so many boxes? Was May moving? Shouldn’t MJ have told Harry if that was the case? The house certainly didn’t look like she was packing it up to move. But if that wasn’t the case then what could be in…

“If you’re alright with it, I think I would like your help going through his room.”

_Oh._

Of course. 

May never cared much for holding onto material memories. After Ben died, Harry remembered, May donated nearly all of his clothes to people in need, keeping only one or two shirts for Peter to grow into. Harry had been shocked, but Peter explained to him that the way May saw it, Ben had a lot of good things and we don’t need _all_ of them to remind us of him when they could be helping someone else. 

_“And besides_ ,” Peter had smiled wistfully, some strange, far-off look in his eyes that made Harry desperate to know what he must’ve been thinking, _“Ben would’ve wanted us to help the people who need it.”_

They entered the room hesitantly, and as the door opened to reveal the messy stacks of books and random loose papers scattered across the floor, Harry realized it looked exactly the same as it had on that horrible August day. And he hadn’t been back since then. Three months. Why hadn’t he come back until now?

It was too much. Too soon. No, too _late_.

In any case, it was overwhelming.

May must’ve noticed whatever awful expression Harry’s face had contorted into because she quickly turned to MJ, “Dear, could you help me in the kitchen for a moment? I have some of his things to go through down there as well.”

And then Harry was alone in Peter’s room. He’d been there so many times before. He used to charge in afterschool, tossing his book bag on the floor and flopping down onto the bed as if it were his own to claim, then he would refuse to move until Peter poked him in the ribs and insisted they sit on the floor to play whatever videogame was their favorite in that moment. Now, though, Harry could hardly bring himself to touch anything. The idea of moving something out of place, of undoing one of the last things Peter did, haunted him.

Harry wasn’t like May. Harry was selfish and materialistic and he understood now why MJ had insisted he come along today. She knew he needed this. 

Harry ran his hand slowly over the thin layer of dust that coated Peter’s abandoned desk. Three months hardly felt real. 

On a whim, Harry reached out to pull open one of the desk drawers. He’d never seen inside Peter’s desk because it was for “personal projects” or ideas that “aren’t ready to be seen!” 

Harry shouldn’t have been surprised to find the wadded up bundle of red fabric lying lifelessly at the bottom of the drawer, but knowing something and seeing it with your own eyes are two very different things.

A personal project indeed.

He reached in to pull the suit out, but as he did, his hand brushed something else that he hadn’t noticed at first glance. The only other item in Peter’s “super-secret-project” drawer was a small leatherbound journal, just small enough that it looked as if it would barely fit into his jacket pocket. 

The sight caused Harry to pause. Peter had been known to keep messy notes on random loose bits of paper and criminally mistreated spiral notebooks, but a journal this nice… It had to be something important. 

Harry stared at the journal for a few moments, wondering if he should open it, take a peek at its contents, find out what it meant to _Peter_ …

His trance was quickly broken by a knock on the door behind him. 

“Hey, May is making dinner. Come downstairs for a bit.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry turned to face MJ, “I’ll be there in a sec.” 

He followed her downstairs less than a minute later, with the little leather journal stowed carefully in the center pocket of his hoodie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K so here's kinda how I'm organizing this story:  
> Act I is mostly for establishing character dynamics and basic backgrounds for the plot to start, Act II things start to rise into action territory, and then we have our big Act III finale. :)  
> Each act should be around 4 chapters (of varying lengths) with 2 short "Intermission" stories between the act turnovers.
> 
> Anywho, check out my fic playlist here:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/48ehmrKYrAZYeqOCxYR5FJ?si=D0ucOmEwQKCAHTFHBVcCrA


	3. Act I: Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did not proofread this.

**Act I, Scene 3:**   
**can't forget you**

Harry wandered down the cold, damp, New York streets, lost in thought. May had offered to let him stay the night in Peter’s old room since it was nearly midnight already, but he declined, not wanting to trouble her more than he already had. And because staying in that room would bring back too many memories of sleepovers and video games and brown eyes and Still, he didn’t want to go home just yet. He wasn’t ready to face the empty penthouse again. 

Harry walked a bit faster down the street, past the colorfully lit signs of the city. He ducked into a 24-hour coffee shop. Maybe he could just chill here a bit before heading back home. He pulled out his wallet and made his way over to the counter. 

The coffee shop looked exactly how you’d expect a typical hipster coffee shop to look. Cozy, decorated in earth tones, the standard coffee aesthetic. It was almost entirely empty (which made sense because it was ten o’clock at night), so Harry thanked the barista for his plain black coffee and found a table in the back corner of the room. 

The journal felt heavy in his pocket, and he found himself growing even more curious about its contents, but he couldn't bring himself to open it yet. He stared off into space for a while, just sipping coffee and losing himself in thought. Harry let his eyes wander over to the bulletin board across the room. Among the colorful ads scattered across the board, he could just barely make out the image of Spider-Man’s mask on a newspaper clipping. 

“New York’s Favorite Friendly Neighborhood Hero Saves Queens Coffee Shop.” It read.

Even in the most remote places, Harry would always find pieces of Peter. And that was another thing. Peter was a hero. Eternally the golden best friend Harry could never live up to. He could never be as great or do as much good in his entire lifetime as Peter did in the past 3 years as Spider-Man. Not that it mattered.

Even Norman had loved Peter. (Well, liked. Harry wasn't sure his father was even capable of love.) it didn’t take a mind-reader to see why. Peter was brilliant, a straight-A student, amazing at any kind of math or science you could throw at him. Harry had a completely different set of skills, but a natural inclination towards art and literature wasn't good enough for the head of a corporation that specialized in biochemical engineering. In Norman’s eyes, Peter was the ideal replacement for the perfect genius son he never had. If he could've left the company to Peter instead of Harry, Harry was certain that he would've.

Harry gazed out the window. Lost in thought, he started to feel the sensation that he was drifting away, watching himself slowly sip his coffee from the other side of the glass where the sounds of the barista making drinks and the bells on the door jingling were muffled. He barely felt the heat of the coffee on his tongue. Moments like this seemed to happen to him more and more often nowadays…

There was no way of telling how long Harry stayed like that before an unexpected voice cut through his stupor.

“Is this seat taken?” Harry turned to face the speaker slowly, still plagued by that drifting feeling that had settled in to cloud his mind like a heavy fog. He forced himself to blink a few times.  _ Who…? _

“Thompson?” 

The taller boy gave Harry a nervous smile in acknowledgment of his name. “Uh, yeah. Hey, Harry.”

Flash Thompson stood right in front of Harry, looming over the empty seat on the other side of Harry’s table. He was hunched over slightly, to the point where he didn’t quite reach his full height of six feet. Harry glanced over the boy’s face without meeting his eyes. It took him a moment to realize that Flash was still waiting for the “okay” to sit down. 

“Oh,” Harry said slowly, the pace of his words refusing to cooperate with the speed of his thoughts. “Yeah… Sit. You can sit.”

The thing about Flash Thompson was that Harry had no idea what to think of Flash Thompson. 

It used to be simple. Flash bullied Peter, so Harry would yell and fight and push his way to defend his friend. But one viral video called “Oscorp Heir Anger Management Issues” and one phone call from the school led to a series of new strict rules imposed by his father that rendered Harry completely unable to defend the one person who meant the world to him. So the harassment continued because nothing catches the attention of Norman Osborn like a publicity scandal. 

Flash had bullied Peter from the sixth grade to the eleventh and Harry hadn’t been able to do a single damn thing about it except hover menacingly and glare daggers at Flash out of the fear that if he got in another fight, Norman might ship him off to boarding school where he couldn’t even do that much for Peter. So Harry settled for hating Flash Thompson from afar and threatening him whenever no one was watching. 

The day after Ben died, Harry had watched cautiously from a few feet away as Flash approached Peter in the hallway, ready to impulsively step in at any moment, damn the consequences. But nothing happened. Flash and Peter talked for a moment and then parted ways. Harry had been surprised that day. He hadn’t thought Flash had a shred of decency in him at all. 

Of course, after a few weeks, Flash began tormenting Peter again, but Gwen was there to step in that time. Harry sometimes wondered if that helped Peter fall for her. It bothered him, knowing that she was there to protect him when Harry wasn’t, but at the same time, he was glad Peter had someone who could look out for him. Physical bullying turned into light teasing, turned into Peter eventually referring to Flash as a “friend” at the lunch table one time, and causing Harry to spit out his drink in shock while MJ laughed loudly. 

At first, he assumed Peter was being sarcastic or overly nice. Harry hadn’t understood how much had changed until Peter gave him a sad look and asked him to “maybe don’t call people dickwads when you don’t know anything about what their life is actually like.” 

That had been a shocking wake up call. It was as if Peter had just forgiven and forgotten every awful thing Flash had done to him. Harry couldn’t begin to comprehend it. 

All of this and more was replaying in Harry’s head as he avoided eye contact with the tall, blond boy sitting across from him.

Flash took a sip of his drink (something pale, topped with a large amount of cream. Harry honestly had no idea what it was or why he cared enough to be thinking about it) and cleared his throat. 

“I’d ask you how you’re doing, but that’s probably a stupid question.”

Harry’s neck snapped up to glare at the other boy. 

“The  _ fuck  _ is that supposed to mean?” He barked out. Harry felt the heat in his face as it flushed red with anger. Who was he to assume he knew how Harry was coping with the death of his best friend? Flash  _ fucking  _ Thompson of all people. This couldn’t be allowed. He had no right-

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Flash spoke quietly and anxiously and it was so unlike Flash that Harry’s burst of anger morphed into a mix of shock and confusion. 

“I just meant… I don’t know, sorry, you just… People don’t usually end up in a coffee shop at midnight when things are going well.” Flash stared down at the table, gripping the sides of his mug tightly. Harry made a confused note of how tense the blond’s shoulders looked.

Harry slumped back in his seat, mentally kicking himself for reacting so violently to the well-meaning comment. Of course Flash hadn’t meant anything malicious. He was different now, right? That was the point Peter had been trying to push into Harry’s thick, stubborn head, wasn’t it? Maybe whoever posted that video all those years ago was onto something with that anger issues thing…

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, glancing up at the taller boy, “I’m just tired of people assuming they know how I feel right now.” And it was true. With his classmates and the reporters and the hordes of Spider-Man twitter fans that had been pressuring him to make a statement about his feelings for months after his outburst with the reporter, he’d been overwhelmed. He’d been about ready to chuck his phone out the penthouse window when TMZ ran a story suggesting he didn’t really care about his best friend’s death because he hadn’t made a “memorial twitter post” or some stupid shit like that. Why should he have to let the world know he’s grieving? People should be able to figure that out themselves without him puking his emotions out under a spotlight for all to see. 

‘Yeah, I...” Flash stared into his drink as if it might magically tell him the right words to say so as not to set Harry off again. He seemed to be thinking it through carefully. “I understand what you mean. I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re feeling. I didn’t mean…” He trailed off and looked up at Harry who had been studying his face to discern what he was thinking. 

When their eyes met, Harry suddenly understood that Flash was being completely genuine. He wasn’t sure how, but he just…  _ knew.  _ Maybe that was what Peter was talking about. Flash had changed and whatever was behind that mix of melancholy and nervousness that shone through those blue eyes was the key to it all. 

What had Peter said, again?

_ Maybe don’t call people dickwads when you don’t know anything about what their life is actually like. _

Harry didn’t know Flash. 

He didn’t know anything at all.

Something in Peter’s words resonated with him as he searched Flash’s face for meaning. Why was he so tense? His eyes kept flitting down to his drink and over to the door and his hand hovered over his drink like… Like he was prepared to pack up and run at a moment’s notice. 

_ Maybe it’s because you’ve been silently staring at him for about 20 seconds, dipshit. _

Oh. Harry startled and began to look away, but something new caught his attention.

“What happened to your eye?” He blurted out before he could stop himself. He had just caught notice of the subtle bruising on Flash’s face. He could barely make out the little spots of dark purple and red in the area surrounding Flash’s right eye. It wasn’t completely visible; it looked as if it had been covered by a thin layer of patchy makeup that seemed to have faded throughout the day. Still, Harry could make out that it was a pretty serious injury.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Flash laughed it off hurriedly and turned away. “Just a little spot from practice. It’s no big deal.” Harry eyed Flash suspiciously at that statement. His reply seemed rehearsed. It obviously wasn’t the whole truth, but Harry wasn’t going to force it out of him. It wasn’t any of his business.

Harry took a sip of his drink and turned back to gaze out the window. He let his gaze wander over the city street until he felt that tiny weight in his pocket again and he wondered…

_ What would Peter do about this? _

Well, he wouldn’t ignore the issue, for one. Peter cared about people. The idea of something being “none of his business” wasn’t a concept he often followed. But maybe that’s why he helped so many people. Because he  _ did _ get involved. He showed that he cared. 

Maybe Harry should try caring like Peter did.

Even about Flash Thompson.

“Are you sure?” He said after a moment’s hesitation. If he wanted to show he cared, maybe he should open up a little bit too. “Like you said, people don’t usually end up in a coffee shop at midnight when life is good and all.” He faced Flash with a self-deprecating smile that he hoped conveyed that he was willing to listen and care if Flash was.

It didn’t seem to make the right impression. 

“Look, I’m sorry, dude,” Flash sighed, starting to get up. “I didn’t mean to pick at a sore spot with that, okay, just...” He trailed off. 

Had Harry’s words come across sarcastically? Was the expression too much? He’d been told that he had “resting  _ evil _ face” quite a few times in his life… Maybe his attempt at emoting had actually made his expression seem malicious. Or maybe pressing this issue just wasn’t the right thing to do after all. 

“I’ll go, sorry.” And while Harry sat there, stunned into inaction, Flash was out the door.

_ “Why can’t you be more like that Parker boy?” _

Norman’s voice was clear as ever in Harry’s mind. He had been talking about grades when he said that; it was freshman year and Harry had just failed a biology test. At the time, Harry had been livid. Why was his best friend so amazing when Harry could never seem to be good enough for his father’s standards?

Now, Harry had asked himself the very same question in a different context, and the answer had revealed itself as clear as day.

No one could be like Peter. They just couldn’t.

Especially not Harry.

The journal in his pocket felt heavier than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is sorta inspired by the lyrics to Owl City's "Lonely Lullaby
> 
> We've officially met or mentioned basically all of the major players in Harry's life by now! yay! so next chapter will be the last scene in act 1 and then the action will start to pick up a little and it'll be less constant angst lol. thanks for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is starting off real slow and sad, but it will get better, I promise! It's meant to follow Harry through his process of grief, revenge, and eventually acceptance so we can see how he'll grow as a character! :)


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